


Not Much For Stargazing

by toboldlyhomo



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Horror, M/M, Science Fiction, mckirk - Freeform, x-files au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toboldlyhomo/pseuds/toboldlyhomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mad to determine / The height of the sky / And the breadth of / One human life / No ribbons, no starting gun / Sprinting around the sun / Man's quaint little race / The heaving contenders / Get one thing to say / And it's always the same: / Our names, / Chiming through space"</p><p>A string of murders is rocking the FBI to its core, with bodies turning up deformed but having no obvious cause. Special Agent Leonard McCoy is called in to assist Jim "Spooky" Kirk in solving these crimes - designated X-Files due to their bizarre nature - but can the skeptical former doctor maintain his composure when faced with an eccentric and unrelenting partner?</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://spocktacular.co.vu/post/101216777857">Prompt</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I uploaded a more basic draft of this a few months ago and tbh I kinda hated it? So I'm rewriting it when possible (by combining it with a different serial killer thing I had in mind) and trying to work on my pacing a bit more.
> 
> Jim will be introduced next.

Helen MacCaulay was hunched over her table, legs softly thrumming with reawakened nerves as she swung her foot back and forth while tying her long hair into a messy ponytail. It was late, and as the timed lights began to shut off one by one, rendering most of the vast room a murky haze, she finally looked up from her paperwork. Under the dim, yellow glow of her tabletop lamp, Helen rubbed at her tired eyes. Already 2AM, and she was nowhere near finished with the assignment. Even the cleaning crew had already gone home.

Exhausted, she packed up her belongings, organised her notes, and prepared to leave. A shiver went down her spine as she traversed the winding corridors to the elevator. Not even when the doors closed did she feel secure.

As the carriage approached the basement levels, Helen pulled out her phone to dial her wife. “Hey, sweetie!” she exclaimed when she heard the weary voice answer.

“Hel…? God, what time is it?”

“I’m sorry it’s so late, I just needed to hear your voice. I’ve got a major case of the heebie jeebies, Alex,” she explained, the sound of her heels clacking on cement echoing in the background.

“It’s fine, babe,” the other woman yawned. “Are you on your way home now?”

“I’m almost at my car, so I’ll see you soon.”

“Want me to wait up for you?”

“Nah, you need your beauty sleep,” Helen joked as she reached the driver’s side door of Toyota.

“Oh, you are so going to pay for that,” Alex laughed.

She reached into her purse, rummaging through it to find her key fob. “Promises, promises.” Another chill ran down on her spine, and she instinctively looked behind her. The garage was completely empty; there were no other cars in sight. “I swear I feel like I’m being watched,” she muttered. Helen shook her head, scolding herself for her paranoia as her fingers clasped around the keys. “I’m probably just being silly, though. No one’s been here for hours.”

With the press of a button and the flashing of headlights, she finally opened the door and tossed her purse into the passenger seat. “I’m getting into the car now, babe.”

“Good night, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too. Get some sleep, okay?” A sharp clanging noise resounded through the vacant parking garage, making Helen jolt upright and gasp in surprise.

“Helen!” Alex shouted, muffled, through the phone’s speaker.

She spun on her heels, back to frame of the car, and clutched the inner handle for support.  The pale lights flickered above her, and fear ripped through her chest. She aimlessly stumbled backwards, falling into her seat, and pulled the door hard to encapsulate herself within. “Alex, I don’t think I’m being silly anymore. I heard something!”

“Do you need me to call for help? I can get a squad car there in a few minutes – Stephen should be patrolling tonight!”

Helen frantically reached for her keys again, trying to insert them into the ignition and failing in her haste. Movement drew her eyes to the driver’s side mirror, catching the faintest glimpse of a retreating shadow before the lights in the parking garage burst. “Someone’s here!” she whispered hoarsely.

Electrical sparks shot through the air, and then there was nothing but darkness.  Helen tried the keys again, finally inserting them, but the car only spluttered in response. “Oh god, it won’t start. Alex, please, get someone! I can’t leave!”

“Just hold on for two minutes, I swear! I won’t let anything happen to you!”

To her right, Helen could hear the sound of scratching – like nails on an ancient chalkboard. The shrill screeching echoed through the air, and was slowly replaced by a cacophonous symphony of chattering and low growls. She whipped her head around frantically, trying to ascertain the source, but the penetrating blackness and billowing shadows left her almost blind.

The last thing she felt was something heavy slamming onto the hood of her car, shattering the windshield, and the foetid stench of hot air on her cheek. Her phone fell beneath the pedals, screen cracked and abandoned, with Alex shouting out her badge number for assistance.  

* * *

Special Agent Leonard McCoy sat behind his desk, nose buried in a pile of case files. Around him, other agents flurried like moths searching for yet another flame – addicted to the excitement that a new light brought. To the unskilled observer, with his perfectly pressed suit and neatly styled hair, he seemed unassuming and unremarkable.

They couldn’t be more wrong.

Beneath that exterior lay a cunning mind, one which had left the FBI all but begging for him to join almost a decade before. His hands remained ever those of a surgeon, precise but lethal when necessary, and he put them to good use in the field. He had once excelled at interrogation techniques, using his masterful knowledge of human anatomy to deliver mind-numbing levels of pain to his marks, and his preferred method was the implementation of fractures.

Leonard had a name then which still followed him to this day, whispered by new recruits as they avoided his gaze in the hallways.

 _Bones_. The former surgeon and pathologist who could kill you a dozen ways before your body even hit the ground.

This lifestyle left him riddled with scars, marring his sunkissed skin with flashes of white and swollen red. His interests were now on the more pacifistic side, and he strictly refused to commit harm unless the situation was absolutely dire in nature. When not at his desk, other agents were met with a constant barrage of “I ain’t no goddamn damsel in distress!” until they learnt to stop tiptoeing around him

Leonard’s current case plagued his mind, occupying every waking thought and infiltrating his dreams. The Bone Collector. Within the last 18 months, 6 victims had been found. All blonde women in their late 20s who disappeared without a trace, but when their bodies eventually washed up they were found to have shared a terrible fate. A prolonged exsanguination followed by the removal of key skeletal pieces.

The first was Lilian Grace, an elementary school teacher from Canada who had only worked in California for a year before going missing. From her, the proximal and distal phalanges of both hands were missing – something which went unnoticed until after the autopsy was conducted due to the lack of scars of stitching.

From the other five, ulnas (Emily Moss), fibulas (Anita de Jong), ribs (Stephanie Kerr), individual vertebrae (Cady Patterson), and tarsals (Arden Enthoven) were found to be absent. There the pattern became obvious, but the method for choosing victims was still unknown.  

Leonard had been working on the case for 13 of those months, and so far there were no leads.

He was momentarily distracted by the vibrations of his mobile phone on the desk, buzzing only twice before he picked it up. “McCoy.”

“My office. Now,” ordered the voice on the other end.

 


	2. Fear the Fall

“So, Doctor, I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you down here on such short notice,” Assistant Director Pike began, gesturing to the padded chair in front of his desk.

“I have my suspicions,” Leonard answered plainly, splaying his legs as he sat down. He casually rested his elbow on the armrest, propping up his chin with a smug look. “But it’s always nice to hear ya beg. So, how can I help you?”

 “We have reason to suspect there’s been another kidnapping – a Helen MacCaulay from San Francisco. Her wife, Alex, reported her missing early this morning. She heard the whole thing.”

 Leonard furrowed his brows. “Another one already? But the last body was only found a week ago.  What makes them so sure she’s one of ours?”

“Female, late 20s, blonde. Oh, and then there’s the fact that another vehicle somehow slammed through the windshield of her car, despite traffic cameras showing no others in the vicinity prior to the disappearance,” Pike elaborated. “Our team already surveyed the wreck. Mrs. MacCaulay’s battery was fried, so there’s no way she could have escaped regardless. Not unless she felt like jumping 3 storeys down.”

The other man contemplated in silence for several moments, compiling the data within his mind and adding it to the extensive case file there. “What about the time skip? All the others revealed five minutes of missing footage.”

“Down to the second. Which was long enough for our perp to grab-and-go without leaving a trace.” Pike pulled his keyboard toward him to open up surveillance feed, and then turned the screen towards Leonard. It showed how the time stamp jumped from 02:13:44 to 02:18:44, beginning with Helen exiting the elevator and ending with her car in complete disarray. She was nowhere to be seen.

Leonard intently watched the eyes of his oldest friend. “There’s more to it, isn’t there,” he said as he braced his elbows on the armrests of his seat. “What aren’t you tellin’ me, Chris?”

“It’s not just you, Leo. There’s… something we’ve been trying to keep quiet,” Pike confessed. “You know the basics, like everyone else involved on the case: exsanguination and bone removal. The rest is where it gets tricky.”

“I’ve waited months for a break; don’t leave me hangin’.”

“We have reason to suspect that this has all happened before. One of our more unconventional agents discovered a series of cases from the 70s which match our MO to a tee.” Pike pulled out a stack of manila folders from a drawer in his desk and pushed them towards Leonard. “There was just one big difference,” he said as he flipped open the folder on top of the pile.

The special agent skimmed the pages within, pausing with a skewed expression on his face. He looked back up at Chris, gobsmacked. “They’re male,” Leonard exclaimed.

Pike nodded. “But still all blonde and late 20s, just like now.”

“So they changed their pattern on purpose to mess with us? If it’s still the same person, that is.”

“It’ll be easier if you discuss this with the person who made the finding. The board decided you would be the best candidate for,” Pike paused, searching for the best word, “managing them during this time. To keep an eye on them.”

“I’m not gonna play baby sitter just because you asked,” Leonard snapped. “Who the hell is it?”

The assistant director let out a long sigh. “You’re not going to like this part. It’s Kirk.”

“Oh sweet Jesus, you are not saddlin’ me with Spooky goddamn Kirk! He probably thinks aliens are behind it for chrissake, or some robotic super soldier created by the government that’s gone rogue! How can you take him seriously with this?”

“He has evidence this time, Leo. You’ve seen the folder yourself. I need you to go down there and speak with him, get the facts straight and see if there is some truth behind it all.” Pike stood up, buttoning up his grey striped blazer as he did. “I can trust you to not fall into his delusions, and it’s the only lead we’ve had in a long time. You’ve said so yourself.”

Leonard threw his head back and groaned loudly. “Fine, but if the first words out of his damn mouth even vaguely mention probin’, I’m walkin’ straight outta there.”

“That’s all I’m asking for.” Pike circled around the desk and walked Leonard to the door with a hand placed on his shoulder. “If you really think he has nothing, then that’s the end of it. You can go back to your desk and twiddle your thumbs all day instead.”

“You’re a terrible person.”

“I know. Now go have fun in the basement.”

* * *

The lowest levels of the Federal Bureau of Investigations were by no means welcoming, but for Jim Kirk it was the closest thing he had had to a home in a long time. His office was located at the far end of a long hallway, littered with old crates and covered in dust from the cob-webbed ceilings to the cracked linoleum floor.  The other doors had been bolted or welded shut decades ago, and were totally impenetrable – though that never stopped Jim from trying to break them open and uncover some world-changing secret.

At the far end was a door of polished oak, the only one free from signs of neglect, which stood ajar and spewed out an ominous brightness. Leonard walked with the stack of files in his arms, the ambiance of the hall putting him on high alert, but with each step, the stale air gave way to a fresher scent. One of leather and sandalwood, wafting towards him in a cool breeze.

When he finally reached the end, he pushed the door gently open with his shoulder and came face-to-face with the man he had only heard of in the past.

Or face-to-back, as was now the case. The infamous Kirk was far too busy leaning over his heavy desk, arm deep in the crevice between it and the wall, to even notice Leonard’s approach.

“Stupid damn cable,” Jim groused as he futilely grasped for the power cord that had disconnected from his laptop. He lifted a leg up onto the table and ducked down further, giving him the distance he needed to finally grasp what he had sought. The movement of his body was obscene in that moment, resulting in an almost peacock-like display which perfectly showed off his figure.

Leonard cleared his throat to announce his presence, making the agent’s head perk up and almost smack into the wall. Jim scrambled down from the table, cable in hand, and turned to face the intruder while adopting a rudimentary defensive stance.

The doctor was not prepared for what he saw next. Golden skin despite the hours spent cramped in the windowless basement, shrouded in an almost too-tight but soft-looking tan button up shirt – messily half tucked into a pair of dark jeans – and with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Leonard’s stare lingered a moment too long on his arms, which were covered in a constellation of freckles, before finally fixing on the most electrically radiant pair of blue eyes he had ever seen, framed by a pair of black glasses.

Jim raised his thick brows expectantly, gaze earnest and somewhat hopeful as he tilted his head to the side and waited for the other man to speak. “Can I help you with something, Mister…?” his deep, charming voice asked.

Leonard was absolutely stunned, disbelieving that this was _the_ Jim Kirk. Surely there had to be a mistake, because there was no way this could be the man who set an entire team of FBI agents, locked and loaded, on a cross-country search for what ultimately proved to be a hoax.

It took seeing the poster behind the desk to convince Leonard that he was in the right place, a blurred picture of a UFO with the text ‘I Want To Believe’ positioned underneath. He blinked several times in rapid succession, wiping his face of any expression. “McCoy,” he answered. “Doctor Leonard McCoy. I take it you’re Sp--, uh, Special Agent Kirk?”

The briefest hint of disappointment flashed across Jim’s face at the doctor’s stumble. He hated that nickname and the way it stuck to him like thick, amber syrup. One mistake and he was branded a laughing stock. Hurt, he crossed his arms before his chest. “Yes,” Jim responded suspiciously. “What do you want,” he stated more than asked.

The doctor was taken aback by Jim’s sudden switch in demeanor and, not eager to press the issue further, went straight to business. “Pike instructed me to come down here.” He lifted the stack of files still in his arms and motioned his head towards them. “Says you got some theories about the Bone Collector that I oughta know about.”

Jim pursed his lips thoughtfully as he carefully evaluated his next sentence. “And do you actually care what I have to say, _Doctor_ , or are you just here to laugh at me,” he sneered.

Leonard stiffened at the waves of annoyance suddenly coming his way. Though he had expected the meeting to go this way, he was almost disappointed to have it happen. Matching Jim in tone, he said, “That all depends on if you’ve got any sense in your head, kid. Tell me what you’ve found, and then I’ll decide whether you’re wastin’ my time.”

Their eyes locked, both refusing to break the contact in a bid to establish dominance. Jim was the first to break the silence and pointed his thumb at the sofa behind him without looking away. “You can set your shit over there.”

Neither man moved for several heart beats, but with time pressing down on them and a life at stake, Leonard had no choice but to relent. It was as empty a victory for Jim as it was a loss for Leonard. He placed the files on one side of the couch then sat down on the other, awkwardly running his hands up and down his thighs to occupy himself while thinking of what to say.

Leonard looked up to see that Jim had moved into his office chair and was swaying slightly while watching the other man. “Look, we don’t have time to waste right now. I just wanna hear what you think.” This was the truth, though before entering the room Leonard would have done anything to avoid coming into contact with the blond-haired man. “Another woman’s gone missin’ and I ain’t got no interest in startin’ a fight with ya.”

Jim cast a bewildered look at Leonard. “Fuck, it’s worse than I thought. What do you know about the case so far?”

“Six recovered victims at present: Lilian Grace, Emily Moss, Anita de Jong, Stephanie Kerr, Cady Patterson, and Arden Enthoven. Medical Examiner put their cause of death as blood loss, and all were noted as being deformed in some fashion through the absence of specific bones,” Leonard recited from memory. “Helen MacCaulay is the latest one to join the group. She was taken last night, and we probably have a week at max to track her down. Pike says you think these deaths could be related to some from the 70s.”

“So you have the Sparknotes version of the case.” Jim turned to his desk and rifled through the lower left-side drawer to reveal more files. The one on top was covered in coffee ring stains and the edges were worn down, making an obvious show of its age. He wheeled towards Leonard, close enough that their knees could almost touch, and placed it in the other man’s lap. “Read it.”

The case inside gave a detailed account of the men found four decades ago, who had disappeared over the course of a year only for their bodies to crop up sporadically. Like the women, their bodies had been altered, but for them the damage was more obvious. They were covered in stitches and looked deflated, like balloons a week after New Year’s Eve. Officers at the time had no explanation for why their bones were taken or why they had been drained of their blood, and by the end of the year the case ran cold. The last presumed abductee, Alistair Bailey, was never discovered, and the culprit had vanished into thin air.

On the last page was stapled a photograph. Most of the colour had faded over the years but the contents remained abundantly clear. An almost-complete human skeleton, missing only the skull, suspended in mid air via a system of ropes and metal coils. Leonard could tell straight away that not all of the bones matched the way they should.

“What’s the meanin’ of this picture?” he asked, afraid of the answer he knew was coming.

Jim looked at the floor gravenly, preparing himself for the ridicule he had come to expect. “I believe it’s a compilation of bones belonging to the men found in 1975. Our Bone Collector does more than just collect. He’s… an artist or a mad scientist perhaps.”

“You mean he’s tryin’ to build a body? But why?” Leonard’s eyes were fixed on the image; he could easily discern more than 10 different donors by way of the picture alone, and that was without any close-up shots.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” Jim took a deep, calming breath and loosened his grip on the folder still in his hands. It was much older than the previous one, bound in leather and sealed with an elastic band.  He handed it to the doctor without another word.

It was almost identical to the last folder in terms of content. Page after page of missing person’s notices and photographs of crime scenes, with another at the end showing a skeleton. It was half-buried in earth, but the pelvis poked through the silt and clay enough that the butterfly shape was clearly distinguishable. All women victims with at least 17 known and 19 Jane Does. Again, the skull was the only missing piece. The dates were half-smeared but the broad, calligraphic penmanship loudly declared the year as being 1935. Again 40 years prior to the next case.

“My lord,” Leonard exclaimed under his breath. The bodies were brutally mangled and the stitching work was radically different to that from 1975. It was unrefined and the needle too blunt to cleanly puncture the skin, leaving it torn and the thread studded with chunks of flesh, but the later accounts showed increased competency until they had surgeon-like precision. Leonard looked mortified and fascinated at the same time, making his stomach turn. “What do you think it is: a copycat or the family business?”

“I think it could be the same person every time…”

“So what, you think there’s an octogenarian lurkin;’amongst the shadows just waitin’ to strike? There’s gotta be easier ways for them to get a new hip.”

“No.” Jim flinched without meaning to and hung his head low. “That’s where I lost the Assistant Director,” he murmured. “I don’t have all the facts yet, but I’m waiting on reports for Massachusetts in 1820. According to my research, only 15 people went missing that time. Every 40 years, the number goes up a little more.”

Leonard rubbed at his five-o’clock-shadow, wishing he had brought coffee down with him. If what Jim was saying was in fact true, then he would spend the entire night reading the case files. Jim had paused speaking but his hands still moved frantically, as though the energy inside him still needed an outlet. Leonard nodded for Jim to continue, seeing how important it was for the restrained and isolated younger man to finally have an outlet for his wild theories.

“The oldest reports are from closer to the 18th century,” Jim resumed. “An entire small town was decimated – the bones were literally torn from their bodies with no attempt at stitching them up or draining the blood beforehand. It was brutal, almost animalistic enough that they thought it could have been wolves!”

“Listen, Kirk—“

“It’s Jim. And I know what you’re going to say. You think it’s just a coincidence and that I’m seeing things that aren’t there, but I swear to you that there is something going on here. Just let me prove it to you,” he begged. “Don’t just shoot me down like everyone else.”

“Alright, _Jim_ ,” the name rolled perfectly off his tongue, mixed with just enough of his smoky southern drawl. “First things first: don’t ever presume to know what I’m thinkin’. Second: I do reckon you have somethin’ here. I don’t know if it’s right,” Leonard began slowly, “but it’s the strongest lead we’ve got.”

“You… you really believe me?” Jim asked, surprise in his voice and body alight with hope.

“That’s what I said, yeah. We need to see Pike about this, and maybe see if he can get us to San Francisco to see MacCaulay’s abduction site.” Leonard listed off a plan of action, but Jim had become too distracted by the way his heart was leaping behind his ribcage.

Jim’s mouth twitched into a wistful smile at the idea that he could turn his luck around and be taken seriously as an agent once more. Thoughts swarmed in his mind; he wanted to surge up and punch the air above him in victory, he wanted to scream his thanks to the high heavens, he wanted to grab Leonard’s hands and hold him close and kiss him—Wait, where did that come from? He shook the last thought from his mind, blaming it on the endorphin rush.

His attention was finally caught by Leonard again, who sat before him with a whimsical expression on his face. “Well?” Leonard repeated.

“Let’s go solve this thing,” Jim said confidently to hide the fact that he had accidentally stopped listening. He suddenly couldn’t shake the funny feeling in his chest. Little did he know, Leonard was having the same issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking next chapter I'll get around to introducing a few other characters to the mix. Especially since the Star Trek reboot is so lacking in women.


	3. Out in the Twilight

The walk to and from Pike’s office was riddled with stares and whispers from the other agents. Jim was tense all throughout, facing forward with his lightly stubbled jaw clenched while trying to not acknowledge the jeers of _Spooky_. Leonard’s heart ached for him.

Their meeting ended with the acquisition of two plane tickets and instructions to leave first thing in the morning. On the bright side, they had business class seats. On the much darker side, it was over five hours spent in alarmingly close quarters, and Leonard was terrified of flying.

* * *

“I can’t believe he’s doin’ this to me,” Leonard gasped. He was freaking out – rocking in his chair while hyperventilating. The plane wasn’t set to take off for another 15 minutes but the doctor’s mind had jumped forward to their fiery deaths.

Jim reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a bottle of water. He placed it in Leonard’s trembling hands, making aborted gestures out of a desire to comfort the other man. “Just breathe, man. You’ll be fine.”

Leonard shook his head, and then took a gulp of water. “D’you have any idea how likely you are to die in a plane crash?” He dragged his hands down his face and moved to loosen the tie which suddenly felt too constricting. “That sonovabitch,” he groaned. “He knows and he’s still makin’ me do this!”

An air hostess walked down the aisle to where Jim and Leonard were seated, and braced her arm on the seat before them. “Sir,” she objected commandingly. “I’m going to need you to quiet down. You’re disturbing the other passengers.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Jim snapped, “but I’m handling this.” He immediately softened, embarrassed by his behaviour. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, miss.” The special agent turned back to Leonard and gently squeezed his arm as the woman left. “What’s wrong, man? You can tell me.”

“Aviaphobia,” Leonard explained. “Fear of dyin’ in somethin’ that flies. Pike,” he spat out the name resentfully, “he knows I’m terrified of it, which is why most of my cases are within drivin’ distance. This is just cruel.”

“Need a paper bag?” Jim offered, mouth quirking.

Leonard looked up in time to get a glance of it, of Jim’s rosy lips being drawn taut with the barest flash of white teeth and eyes crinkling in subdued amusement. For a brief moment, he felt his rapidly-beating heart still and his breath catch in his throat. “I may throw up on you,” the doctor warned to abate the warm feeling in his chest.

“Okay then, I’ll make sure you have two.” He paused thoughtfully. “Did you want to switch seats? I’m guessing the aisle would suit you way better.”

“Yeah, gives me a clear shot to the toilet,” Leonard joked half-heartedly.

* * *

Leonard’s knuckles were ash white, clutching desperately to the armrests as the plane curved upwards into the sky. The shaking of the cabin was no match for the fierce trembling of the doctor’s body, and all of his attention was focused on reminding himself to breathe. “Great impression I’m makin’,” he ground out.

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, confused.

“You’ve got a name that sticks around, and so do I. Meant’a be something fierce and instead I’m over here in foetal position.”

“What’s yours?”

“Bones.”

“Hah! Like Temperance Brennan?”

Leonard shot him a look of utter ignorance. “Whodawhatnow?”

Jim simply shook his head with a bemused look on his face. “Never mind. So, is there anything that usually helps you calm down when flying?”

“Not being on a plane in the first place would be a start,” the doctor answered simply. “Ma used to ply us with sweets when I was younger.”

“Us?”

“My dad and me. He barely left Georgia  - too paranoid and too dedicated to his practice.” Leonard paused to smile fondly at his memory. “We flew to Boston one year to visit family, and he didn’t budge from his seat the entire ride. Just stuck his nose in a book and sucked on ginger candies while complaining how unnatural it was.”

“Well, I don’t have any ginger, but I do have some Werther’s.” Jim dug into the ever-faithful hammerspace that was his satchel and handed the bag of candy to Leonard. “You can hold onto them. Just in case.”

Leonard nodded his thanks as he unwrapped one and placed it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, willing his body to settle.

“I… I hope this isn’t too personal, but why does flying squick you out so much?”

The calm didn’t last long, and Jim’s question shocked him into a flurry of guilt and panic. “I’d just graduated med school. Ma was so excited that I followed in my dad’s footsteps…”

_Ever prepared, Leonard McCoy, 26, checked into the airport hours before his flight. His mother had raised him well, and taught him to anticipate almost any issue that could arise – even teaching him to roll his clothing into bundles to save space. She had a huge party planned and refused to let it be ruined by the guest of honour not showing up._

_“I’m sorry, miss, but the flight is overbooked. We don’t have any more seats available,” spoke the woman behind the counter._

_The redhead in front of her was in tears, hands clasped before her as she begged. “Please, I_ need _to be on this plane!”_

_“There really is nothing I can do. I’m very sorry. You’ll have to take a later flight.”_

_“You don’t understand!” she cried. “I’m a bone marrow match for my sister, and if I don’t get out there she’s going to die!”_

_Leonard silently moved closer and gently tapped the woman on her shoulder. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he interjected. “I couldn’t help but overhear your dilemma. I want you to have my ticket.”_

_The woman stared at him, confounded. “You… Really? Oh my god, thank you!”_

_“I’m a doctor,” he smiled. “It’s my job.” He pulled the boarding pass out of his passport and handed it over to her, along with a business card that had his information printed on it._

_Leonard H. McCoy M.D._

_His mum had them printed especially for him when he left for medical school._

_The woman grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into a tight hug. “How can I repay you?”_

_“Shucks, madam, it’s no problem at all. Give me a call when the surgery is finished, and I’ll see if I can do anything to help you both recuperate.”_

_The two parted ways. Leonard’s heart glowed with the thought that he was finally doing some good in the world._

_It all came to a crashing halt an hour later. Leonard saw the debris through the domineering windows of the airport, careening to the earth like falling stars and lighting up the sky with bursts of yellow and orange. It coated the ground and seared into his mind. The plane had been sabotaged, and over 400 lives were lost as a result._

“I wanted to help, but instead I cost two innocent people their lives.” Leonard fell silent. “After that I didn’t feel like a healer anymore.”

Jim’s fingers found themselves laced with Leonard’s and gave a reassuring squeeze, while his body craned to soothingly rub circles on his hunched-over back.

They remained like that for the rest of the flight, not speaking another word until the wheels touched the ground again. Through bouts of turbulence, the doctor felt himself drifting through infinite space, but Jim’s hand was the tether that kept safety in sight and helped him breathe even when it felt like the floor might disappear from beneath him. It was the first time in almost 10 years that he hadn’t spent most of a plane ride locked inside the cabin bathroom. It was the first time flying stopped feeling like falling.


End file.
